


Psychosis

by Arachnoid



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Reconcile, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, self-abuse, self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnoid/pseuds/Arachnoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't right anymore. Peter finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychosis

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short one-shot I thought up at 2 in the morning o.O  
> WARNING: May contain triggers for some readers.  
> Rating: T for coarse language, mentions of self-abuse and graphic scenes.  
> Pairing: Slight Parksborn, mostly friendship.

It hurts. Listening to his words, his manipulations. Enduring his taunts and his insults. A person that doesn't belong, someone that shouldn't exist, but he does. And it's easy to feel him, to hear him and see him. He's everything and everywhere and everyone and there is no escape.

A monster. A demon. A goblin.

But Harry exists too. Two persons in one vessel, fighting and battling and struggling. The goblin is stronger; but Harry is more determined. He won't give up; can't give up. Because he deserves this suffering for Peter, even if Peter hates him.

The goblin does more than insult him, though. Does more than tell him he's weak, that he deserves his loneliness and isolation, that Harry will kill all that he loves. Or rather, the goblin will kill his loved ones and make Harry watch.

But no. The goblin does much worse.

Harry can feel it, the second that his sanity twists and suddenly he's lost himself, a cackling maniac wrecking chaos on anyone near. Harry is usually the only one there. He doesn't always remember when it happens, but the scars remind him.

Bruises, placed on his thighs the size of his own fists. Scratches down the length of his arms that weren't there hours ago. Bits of his hair still clumped in his hands when he regains his conscious.

And that's when the goblin is nice.

Burns on his chest from metal objects heated on the stove. Concussions and black eyes from the goblin throwing his head into the wall, the dresser, the table. Cuts on his wrists and his waist, marks gouged in by the green monster to remind Harry who he belongs to. Who he obeys. It's sick and it's cruel when Harry can peak through the black haze in his mind to catch his own two hands assaulting his body, tearing and clawing and destroying.

Harry wants to get away, wants to get back to his Peter. Wants to turn the clock back and forget Ravencroft, Gwen, and the goblin ever happened. But he can't. The mental scars are permanent, to match the ones embedded in his flesh.

Ravencroft probably did the most damage, cruel psychiatrists, invasive experiments and mind-assaulting drugs making him lose the left of himself. The goblin was insane, with no sense of reality. Now Harry was too, the goblin his only reality. Harry can't really think about Ravencroft without losing his small amount of control.

He doesn't remember how he got approved for being "rehabilitated." Just that one day, he was crying in a cell, and the next, he was crying in his bed.

It didn't matter though. Harry was broken.

He finds himself on the floor of the bathroom today, vision dancing and insides spiraling. He's on his side, neck kinked uncomfortably towards the ground, but he feels himself stuck in a sensation of paralysis. Something is very very wrong this time.

He chokes, diaphragm sputtering and fighting to suck in burning gasps. He's not okay, he's never okay. There's a terrible fire pulsing on his side, and an aching insistence settled in his shoulder, begging to be nurtured.

A groan, bloodshot eyes wincing against the pain pain pain.

"Leave me alone." He mouths, voice refusing to cooperate.

 _Never_ , Is echoed back. His body slowly wakes up.

Harry whines, flexing his hand when the bones protest. He gasps. Three of his fingers are broken. He can make out their deformed shape.

He plants his other hand on the ground, bracing for the pain by grinding his teeth into each other with much force. There's a protest in that same aching shoulder, but he's pushed himself too far up now to quit. But he can't keep upright. Harry pushes himself into the corner where the wall and the tub meet, slumping into his broken body. It hurts everywhere. He blinks his blurry vision until it's clear enough to see colour, and he really wishes he hadn't.

Yellow, green, and blue are painted on his bare chest, spreading into each other like it was an artist's intentions. On his exceptionally pained side is a terrifyingly black welt that only seems to grow. He barely touches it with shaking fingers and he's hissing, clenching his toes and his jaw to help bear the pain. He thinks his ribs are fractured.

There's a pretty scarlet rolling down his other side, the black outline of an object obvious in his peripherals. He yanks it out with his functional hand, wincing when it gets caught on the already marred flesh of his shoulder.

It's a piece of glass – no. Mirror? Pink tints the edge where it was implanted in his skin, a translucent liquid that has him entranced. He must be in shock, because he feels rather apathetic towards this week's episode.

It takes himself 20 minutes to finish assessing the damage, and another 45 to get up and put clothes back on. His previous ones lay completely shredded and burnt in his garbage can, not really sure what the goblin's intentions were. He doesn't bother to question it.

He doesn't think he has the strength to lay down, so he eases himself onto the couch, a cold compress clutched tightly to his side. He doesn't care much enough the stab wound. It wasn't that deep – this time.

His eyes close slowly, begging to rest but Harry can't stand the thought of being out of his mind for any longer. At least he's in control right now. At least the goblin's torment has quieted down to complete silence, his presence still apparent but his havoc on hold. Harry cherishes these moments more than anything in the world. He forces his eyes open.

Two covered feet pad down in front of the open window, but Harry doesn't remove his hollow stare from the carpeted floor. He thinks the colour is pretty, a dark maroon to go with the stains on his bathroom floor. He can't say he didn't expect a visit.

When those feet move to stand before him, Harry feels a swell of happiness in his chest, filling a cavity that has long been growing. A bitter sweet smile stretches onto his lips.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come for me." He sounds terrible, but at least words are coming out this time. Harry drags his gaze up the length of the man in front of him, meeting the severe eye-shapes of a mask.

"How did you get out?" The words are acid, but it doesn't matter because he's talking to Harry, blessing him with his voice and chasing away the memories of cruel words from a creature that hates Harry with every pore of himself. Peter's hate is nothing compared to the goblin's.

"I don't remember." Harry drones out, eyes drooping back down. They want to close so badly, but he can't lose this moment. It's so rare and it's so special and Spider-Man is here to finally off him.

Spandex hands grip his collar and lift him from the couch, throwing him into the nearest wall. A loud moan of pain from Harry has Peter's grip momentarily loosening, but he tightens it back up.

"Don't you lie to me. They told me you were sentenced to life!" Peter is angry, but it's an anger fueled by pain and betrayal. Harry can't help but smile, feeling a twisted relief at mattering enough to someone to hurt them.

"I guess I got out on good behavior." Peter slams him into the wall again and he can't keep himself upright anymore on his weak and shaking legs, but Peter's there to hold him up, refusing to let Harry slink away from him. Harry doesn't want to be anywhere but here, even if Peter is beating him up. Peter hurting him will always be preferred over the goblin.

"I really should commend whoever did this to you, but I must say I'm upset I didn't get to do it myself." Those words tug at Harry, not because of the insult directed towards him, but because of how bitter he's made Peter. Peter is the hero, and Harry has gone and warped him.

Harry let's his eyes flutter shut, everything in the world weighing too heavily on him. The goblin is starting to whisper, trying to gain strength again and attack the spider in front of the two of them. Harry knows Peter deserves revenge, but the goblin still hasn't let his go. He wants to kill Peter.

Harry scrunches his face and brings a hand up to his hair, trying to quiet the increasing psychosis. He feels himself starting to slip again, but it's a gradual thing, so it won't be anytime soon. Regardless, his exterior crumbles away and he finds himself mumbling quietly to the goblin.

"He hates us. You hate him? Well I hate you. You won't hurt him. He's mine, and you can't touch him. You'll never touch him. You'll never hurt him and you'll never make me watch, I'll kill us before that – stop it, stop it, stop it! Just shut up. Get out of my head!" He groans again, clutching and tugging at his hair with both hands, despite the broken fingers, and pulls hard.

He doesn't realize Peter let him go and he's sitting curled in a ball on the floor until Peter's hands grip his wrists. Harry opens his eyes back up and sees the mask by his feet, afraid to look up and meet Peter's eyes. He does anyway.

There's fear, concern, and empathy screaming in those chocolate spiraled eyes and Harry can't take it. He doesn't deserve understanding, or forgiveness or even kindness from this man. Harry's tears come before either of them can blink, and he jerks his face away. Peter let's his arms go.

"Please just kill me already, Pete. Please kill me. I can't live like this." He's sobbing openly, hugging his knees tightly to his chest and rocking carefully. His hands fist periodically, and the pain in his fingers helps keep him grounded for now. "Please Pete. Please." He doesn't even care that he's begging.

"Harry..." Peter starts, really looking at Harry's appearance. There are green smears under his eyes, healing black eyes that looked a week old. His knuckles are bleeding and his one hand is mangled, but Harry hardly seems to notice. There are scratches and cuts and bruises along his arms and Peter can't help but take in the angle they were made. Was Harry...?

"Harry did you do this to yourself?" Now that he's started, Peter can't stop looking and the scars are jumping out at him. His flesh is bubbled, red and angry in round spots along his arms, apparent burns that look like they were from cigarettes. Bruises wrung on every inch of pale flesh, hiding away other secrets sketched on his skin. Peter is very bothered by the sight, his anger and his concern battling for dominance. His vengeance for Gwen, or the pathetic mess of a once powerful boy in front of him? The latter seems to be winning.

This definitely wasn't his Harry, and it's not the Harry he met on the clock tower many months ago either. Something was not right.

"Please Pete. It doesn't matter. Just kill me." Peter doesn't miss the pure honesty in his plea, looking up from his once-friend's very scarred arms to stare into blue. His eyes are like a liquid blue, the bright blue of a desperate soul rather than the piercing ice blue of cold and hate and bitterness.

"Harry, you need to tell me what's happening." The smaller only shakes his head, gingerly wrapping a hand around to support his side. Peter catches the movement. He doesn't pause to pull the limb away, tugging the plain black t-shirt up to inspect the damage. His head swims at the sight of it and for a moment Peter's sure he's going to pass out. He doesn't.

"Harry." Peter calls again, voice breaking at the thought of this broken child in front of him. "Oh Harry, Harry." He's repeating the name while a tinge begins building in his eyes, feeling all the hate he held towards Harry melt away in seconds.

"It wasn't me Peter. I'm so sorry, please. You've got to believe me. It wasn't me. I didn't do it, and I didn't hurt Gwen either. Please Peter I'm so so sorry." Harry is sobbing it out, barely able to form the sentences around the tightening of emotions in his throat. "You don't have to forgive me, but at least believe me." Peter believes him.

"Then whose doing this Harry? I'll stop him, I won't let this happen again."

"You can't stop him!" The voice is deep and throaty and off and Peter flicks his gaze back to Harry's eyes immediately. Green is seeping into his pretty blue, washing away the appearance of clear water. He knows that isn't good.

"Sh, sh. It's okay Harry. It's only me. You and me here. It's safe, okay? I'm right here buddy." Harry blinks away the cloud and he's crying harder now, horrified that the goblin almost tore him away again. He buries his face into his knees, refusing to pull away. "Stay here, okay Har?" The other doesn't respond.

Peter stands, moving into the kitchen to look for supplies. He puts a handful of ice into a baggy, settling it on the counter with a quick tie. He moves into the bathroom, easily navigating the vast halls and opening the ivory white door. His heart tries to pour out of his throat at the broken glass, the blood on the floor and the barber's razors thrown clumsily into the sink. At least the razors appear clean.

Peter opens the shattered mirror to reveal a cabinet behind, taking note of the mess there too. Bottles of mysterious pills are mostly empty, some spilled on the little shelves and others speckled in blood. He checks all of them until he finds the Advil, then he grabs the gauze wraps from the top shelf and the alcohol. He doesn't bother closing the mirror.

Peter heads back, grabbing the ice pack as he passes the kitchen. He pauses when he sees the phone, picking up the landline and carrying it with him.

He sets all the items down in front of Harry, wondering how his plan had warped so quickly. He didn't care to think in too much detail, the pity for his not-Harry outweighing everything. There was no one else left to care for the kid, and god knows Harry needed it.

Harry still sat with his face buried, guilt and hate and terror chewing away at his insides. He felt like he was rotting from the inside out, which may not have been a far-off guess, considering his illness.

"Har, I need you to look up, alright?" The injured of the two obeyed the slightest, peaking his eyes up but keeping his mouth and nose covered. "Everything is okay, alright? You're going to be fine. I'm getting you help." Peter was holding the landline in his hands when Harry dove for it, ignoring all the protests in his body.

"No, no no no. You can't. They'll send me back to Ravencroft. I can't go back there! You have no idea what they did to me, Pete. They ruined me!" Harry is yelling again, but it's from terror and post-stress, not the goblin peaking through.

"Alright, alright. Then can I at least help you?" Peter is speaking so carefully and gently, Harry feels his rotting insides swell painfully. He thinks Peter's heart is too big.

"I don't deserve it, Peter." It's quiet and meek and the expression he makes is the saddest Peter has ever seen.

Peter ignores the comment, instead pulling Harry's arms and legs away from his torso. The smaller doesn't have the strength to resist. Peter reaches forward with his gloved hands, gripping the hem of his friend's shirt and searching for approval in his eyes. Harry only closes them.

Peter pulls the fabric up and over, tossing the shirt to the side and looking at the expanse of skin in front of him. Without meaning to, he presses his palm to Harry's chest and feels for his heart, needing the reassurance that he is indeed alive. It's hard to look at the array of colours on his chest. Not to mention the smooth slits at his hips.

"Harry you gotta talk to me. Who is doing this?" He gets to work, dabbing swabs of alcohol over the various injuries.

"I thought you wanted to commend him." Harry jokes, but it's bitter and twisted again. Peter only gives him a look, and Harry has lost the false grin. "He's... He's the goblin. He's in my head, but I think it's from my disease. I don't know, I've only speculated. But my doctors and nurses wouldn't tell me anything when I was.. When I was there." Peter doesn't miss the pause. "Just drugged me up and forced me to believe I was crazy so they could properly 'treat me'. It didn't help. I don't know, I don't know." He started mumbling tiredly, not really sure what was coming out of his mouth.

Peter stopped his movements to stare at Harry's slack face, picking out every sign of exhaustion. If Harry's unintelligent garble was right, that meant the illness had moved into his brain. Peter tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped out from him.

When Peter starts to wrap Harry's chest wounds, the injured yelps and latches tightly to Peter's wrist, the spider's hand barely touching the black bruise on his ribs.

"Sorry." Pete mutters sincerely, trying to make haste of his work. When he's finished, he looks back at his supplies and spots the painkillers. "Oh shit, here." Peter pours out 3, handing Harry a quickly retrieved glass of water. He downs them without a problem.

"Give me more."

"No." Peter immediately counters, brain fitting the pieces about the scattered pills in the bathroom. Harry was more lost than he thought.

"Pete I need them." Harry is whining, and he shuffles forward a bit to settle himself more comfortably. Peter shakes his head and throws the capped bottle behind him.

Harry whimpers loudly and childishly, throwing his head back against the wall because he wants more and Peter won't give them to him.

Gingerly, Peter sets the ice pack against Harry's bandaged side, immediately noticing his relief. Harry's hand automatically moves on top of Peter's to hold it there himself, relishing in the warmth that seeps through his suit. His Peter is with him right now, and he's feeling happiness and calm pumping through his veins. Peter pulls his hand out and the feeling is chased away.

Peter reaches for Harry's other hand and carefully examines the broken fingers. They're bent mostly in the joints, so Peter thinks he can fix them.

"Harry, I'm gonna pop your fingers back, okay?" His voice is calm but firm, and Harry only jerks his head down in one quick nod. He's had to do this before himself, so he knows what to expect.

Peter doesn't waste anytime. He immediately snaps one back into position and Harry is screaming hoarsely, trying to jerk his hand away but unable to at the strong grip on his wrist. Harry huffs once, twice, and then the second finger is snapped back and he groans loudly in his throat, refusing to open his mouth.

The third is the slowest, because it's broken in two spots, but soon Peter is done and there's more ice resting on top of his just-taped fingers. It feels nice.

Peter sits back in silence and stares at Harry again, curiosity building in his chest. Harry just rests against the wall.

"So is the goblin, like, a second personality?" Harry nods. "Why does he hurt you?"

"Because he destroys what he hates, and he hates me." The answer is numb and empty, and Peter can't help the chill that curls around his spine.

It's quiet again and Harry is really starting to fall asleep now, his head sagging lower with each passing second. Questions can wait for later.

Peter is careful when he slides under his arm, hoisting up the small boy to a half standing position. Harry doesn't protest.

Peter guides him into the bedroom, mindful to set him down with as little strain as possible and tucking the covers around his waist. He starts to leave.

"Please, don't go." He turns and Harry's liquid eyes are watching him expectantly, hopefully. It's a childish want in a very adult situation, but Peter can't say no.

He peels off his suit quickly, throwing on one of Harry's shirts littering the floor and sliding in bed beside him.

"I'm right here, Har." It's almost an instinct to slip his arms around Harry's waist, all the times he'd slept over kicking in like the last 9 years hadn't been lost.

"You shouldn't be helping me." Harry mumbles, half asleep, refusing to open his eyes back up. "I'm sorry Pete."

"Stop saying that, you're my best mate. We can figure out... We'll find out what to do about all the complicated stuff in the morning. Alright?" Peter feels a twinge of anger thinking about Gwen, but it grows when he realizes this very real monster has been taking it out on Harry for months, too. His arms reflexively curl tighter around Harry.

Harry's head is quiet, the near-silent hum of buzzing electronics the only noise available. Harry smiles slowly, a long forgotten calm settling onto him like feathers.

"I guess you really do give people hope."


End file.
